


Saturation

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brother-Sister Relationships, Color Blindness, Curse Breaking, Curses, M/M, Overstimulation, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Soul Bond, soul marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-08-23 16:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16622318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: It’s too loud already, and they’re still three feet outside of the building. Merlin is starting to panic, starting to pull against his friends in a bid to make them let him go. He’s considering screaming out that he’s been kidnapped when he sees someone.





	Saturation

Morgana has been eating in his bed again. It rankles Arthur, down to his bones. He can’t sleep, because he can  _ feel  _ the grit of the soft bread crumbs right at his left elbow, and down by his knees. He’s begged her before. Pleaded with her to stay out of his bed.

They live in a house with 42 ridiculously large bedrooms. If she’s not feeling it in her own room, she has 40 other options. His room is off limits.

He climbs out of bed, feels the pad of his foot catch against the rug, against more crumbs, and he grits his teeth, feels the beginnings of build up on his teeth, against his tongue. He’ll brush his teeth first, then wash his sheets and the rug. He won’t sweep the floor. He’s got the thick socks Morgana knit for him that he can wear until George can sweep his room.

Tomorrow, he will wear his bright orange shirt and his bright yellow pants and he will remind her, once more, not to eat in his room. Or at least if she does, to clean up after herself. He brushes his teeth twice, flosses, brushes again, and then rinses his mouth with filtered water to remove the slick feeling of the paste against his cheeks.

\---

Gwen is singing again. A lovely old ballad about Mary and her thistles and thyme, but she’s singing. It’s 2 in the afternoon and they’ve just finished their project for Sociology. Merlin knows she’s just celebrating, but he’d like her celebrate somewhere else. Somewhere different, if she’s going to sing. Lancelot laughs, the pealing, rumbling sound, and Merlin puts his hands to his head.

He hates them. Hates couples who found each other young. Not that he’s bitter that he introduced them in grade nine or anything or that they’re happy together. It’s just that they’ve sort of  _ forgotten  _ the suckage that is not having found you one.

Gwen used to live on a diet of rice and unsalted crackers and water. Lance used to wear sunglasses literally everywhere, even at night. Now though, Gwen is known for her extremely spicy curry dishes, and Lance paints with bold pops of colors.

It isn’t like everyone who finds their one has a secret hidden talent based on their damaged sense, but still. They should remember how miserable life was in the oversaturation, and they should get the heck out of Merlin’s flat with their singing and their cooking and their rustling clothes and their constant shifting of pots and pans and utensils.

Merlin shuts his door as quietly as possible, grimacing at the brush of wood against wood and the chink of the lock settling into place. He picks up his headphones and settles them over his ears, finding his calm app and settling in to the low rumble of thunder.

\---

The theory is: it’s a curse. As far as can be observed, only Avalon is affected by the  _ Gift of the One  _ . And it only affects those born and raised in Avalon or those who intend to settle there permanently.

It’s called a curse because the side effects of waiting on the one results in one sense being more sensitive than all of the others. Sometimes it’s manageable, but for others, it can be pretty debilitating.

Merlin has a theory on that. He’s noticed the more strongly affected a person is the sooner they find their person.

He’s mostly basing this of his friends and his mum.  Take Gwaine, for instance. Who used to vomit at most smells. His mum had to keep his nose constantly covered in a subtle honey scented cream. He was about 10 when he found Percival, who could only stomach bananas and almond milk. Or Merlin’s own mum who was practically blinded by colors until she met his father who walked around with cotton in his ears. Their meet cute was adorable, on the playground at the daycare.

Then he thinks about Gaius who really only disliked the smell of specific things, like sandalwood and watermelon, who didn’t meet Alice who would only wear cotton anything, until he was 40. Neither of them were even aware their sense were signs, they’d just assumed they were a little quirky. Then they brush shoulders in a grocery store, and the world shifted a little.

All that to say, Merlin has a theory, and it is definitely a curse. He’s counting down the days until he meets his one. Sure, sounds annoy him to no end, but he’s not putting his life on hold. However it’s also definitely obvious that it’s just not a quirk. So he’s figuring up his days and years, and if he doesn’t meet his one by 25 he’s going to have to rework his theory.

Avalon isn’t big, but it’s home to many people who keep to their own. Merlin will just have to break the trend and branch out.

\---

Morgana thinks Arthur is an idiot when he talks about the witch. But Morgana met Mithian when she was twelve. She doesn’t remember how much this curse sucks.

She likes to tell him she remembers praying for her skin to disappear so the feel of wood and dirt and sun wouldn’t constantly make her nauseated, of wearing long woolen jumpers and leggings even in summertime because it was the only way to keep her skin from crawling.

Arthur doesn’t believe her. Because if it were true she’d understand why he wants to sob in frustration at the gritty feel of everything around him, and she’d stay out of his bed with her crumbs and her powders and her weird grainy materials.

Mithian just pats his hand, calls him a “poor dear”, and tells him to get out of their tiny little neighborhood and go exploring.

“You’ll never find the one if you stick to this house, the university, and your secret dance thing.”

She isn’t wrong, but she doesn’t understand. If he leaves his carefully cultivated world, he might have to resort to long sleeves and gloves and trousers all the time. At home, he’s supposed to be safe in his shorts and no shirt.

Which he tells the girls, who proceed to roll their eyes and rub their gritty, dough covered hands across his arms.

He immediately climbs in the shower and scrubs his skin, cursing the witch who thought they needed a sign to tell them who to love.

\---

“Merls, mate. Just come with us?”

“No.”  Merlin is only half paying attention. He’s used to telling Gwaine no. Every single evening, for the last four years, Gwaine and Percival have asked Merlin to come watch them dance.

Every evening. And everytime he politely tells them  _ no  _ brooking no room for argument.

Tonight, however, they’ve enlisted the help of Gwen and Lance, who’ve decided watching a bunch of dudes in costumes dance is the perfect way to celebrate their engagement.

“Merlinnie, you can’t live your life hiding in your room.”  Gwen cards her fingers through his hair, tugging at the cotton he’s got shoved in his ears.

“No.”

Lance slides into his line of view, shoes squealing against the laminate flooring. “See Gwen? He agrees. Up and up pal!” He grabs Merlin by the shirt and pushes him into Gwaine’s hands. “Trust you boys’ll dress him up and get him there just fine, yeah?”

He grabs Gwen’s hand and tugs her out the door, letting it slam behind him. Merlin does a full body jerk and glares at Gwaine who shrugs. “Here. Shirt, pants, shoes. You have three minutes.”

It takes him six, but only because he sits on the bed pouting for two. “It’s going to be too loud, Gwaine.”

“So wear your ear plugs.” 

“It’ll still be too loud  _ and  _ I’ll look like a loser.”

“That’s the spirit!”

\---

Arthur never dances here. In fact, he is always rather cautious not to stay up front, because the dancers like to be interactive. It’s not that he minds exactly, except they’re usually coated in glitter, and it gets everywhere and nothing is as bad as glitter against his skin for the sole reason of  _ it cannot be washed off  _ . Last time he made Morgana go over his skin with a lint roller in a desperate bid to get it all off.

He enters the building, and the music is already loud, despite the early hour. He settles for a booth in the back, one he’s just watched the lady wipe down. To be safe, he drags a napkin over the seat, then does it again, and then wipes down the table.

\---

It’s too loud already, and they’re still three feet outside of the building. Merlin is starting to panic, starting to pull against his friends in a bid to make them let him go. He’s considering screaming out that he’s been kidnapped when he sees someone.

A beautiful blond in a soft looking sweater slips through the doors. “Who is he?”

Gwaine glances, sees the hair, and smiles. “A regular. Stays towards the back, a bit posh, but if you go in, I’ll introduce you.”

Merlin nods, follows his friends in. It isn’t until he’s standing at the bar that he realizes that the noise has gotten softer. He frowns, glances around, but the band is still setting up and it’s getting pretty crowded.

He takes the cotton from his ears, and it’s loud, but he finds that the noise doesn’t make him want to claw his ears off.

“I have to find the blond.”

\---

Arthur glances around the room, eyeing the others. Mostly its people he recognizes. A few new faces, a beautiful dark skinned man, a bright-eyed red-head. There’s a guy at the bar that his gaze lingers on for a moment, all angles and dark hair, but no one he really wants to talk to.

Despite Mithian’s advice, he really doesn’t want to approach a bunch of strangers and wait for things to “fit.”

He rubs his hands across the table and it takes him a moment before he notices the pretzel salt on his fingers. His head whips up, eyes tracking the red-head, but she leans down and kisses someone he can’t see. He tries to find the dark skinned man, or the guy with the cheekbones, but the place is too crowded.

A hand is thrust into his face, a little shaky, but broad and smooth looking. Arthur is hesitant about it, unsure about the feeling of skin against his own, but he takes a chance and grasp it. The hand is warm, soft, and he doesn’t notice all the ridges and bumps on it.

“Merlin,” a voice says, and Arthur looks up to find cheekbones and blue eyes.

“Arthur.”

 


End file.
